


The hour finishes the day...

by Juno999



Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV), A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Feels, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Feels, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Non-Linear Narrative, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, so many feels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:01:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27904903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Juno999/pseuds/Juno999
Summary: You are not supposed to be here.The oddly shaped, grey buildings, that made up the campus of Prufrock Preparatory School, crowded him. The dusty cobblestone path and the dull wilted grass, that grew between the rocks, did nothing to make the place more hospitable. The grand stone arch, with the school motto carved on it, loomed over his head. All this felt wrong somehow, yet Quigley couldn’t quite place where the feeling was coming from. It was like he was somehow displaced and ended up in a completely different location, from the one intended.“I’m not supposed to be here.”
Relationships: Duncan Quagmire & Isadora Quagmire & Quigley Quagmire, Violet Baudelaire/Quigley Quagmire
Comments: 12
Kudos: 10





	1. Chapter 1

_You are not supposed to be here._

The oddly shaped, grey buildings, that made up the campus of Prufrock Preparatory School, crowded him. The dusty cobblestone path and the dull wilted grass, that grew between the rocks, did nothing to make the place more hospitable. The grand stone arch, with the school motto carved on it, loomed over his head. All this felt wrong somehow, yet Quigley couldn’t quite place where the feeling was coming from. It felt like, he was displaced and ended up in a completely different location, from the one intended.

“I’m not supposed to be here.”

“I don’t think any of us are,” Isadora replied dully. “Yet, here we are.”

Over the past few weeks Quigley had repeated that same phrase to his siblings so many times, they learned to anticipate it and would usually come up with witty responses. The dreary atmosphere of the school, however drained out any attempts at humour left in them.

“I think, I agree with you on this one, Iz,” Duncan said, nervously adjusting his tie. The school uniform fit him almost too well, like he was sewn into it. “Aunt Maribelle’s cottage was charming in its own way. And Uncle Julius, however odd, had good intentions for us. Our placement in this school, though, does feel out of place. I don’t think an educational institution can be considered a suitable guardian for children.”

The person, who brought them there, only offered a coughing fit as an answer; the triplets waited patiently for his cough to seize. His name was Mr. Poe and he was a banker in charge of the Orphan Affairs at Mulctuary Money Management. Ever since the Quagmire parents perished in the terrible fire, that destroyed their home, he was responsible for finding a safe home for the triplets. Neither of the two previous guardians, both distant relatives of their parents, had worked out. Mostly, due to a set of peculiar circumstances. Their Aunt Maribelle was a renown ornithologist. She had received a taxidermy of a rare South American bird, a week after they had arrived to her cottage. The taxidermy, as it turned out, carried an unusual allergen. It caused a severe allergic reaction, that claimed Aunt Maribelle’s life. The triplets remained unharmed, though deeply affected by her death. Their Uncle Julius was a known recluse. He lived on the edge of the dangerous swamp. Two days after the triplets had joined him at his remote home, Uncle Julius ventured into the swamp’s bog. He planned to retrieve some herbs for his collection. Uncle Julius was neither seen nor heard of again.

Now they had come to this boarding school.

“Finding a placement for you, children, was very challenging,” Mr. Poe said, after his cough had finally seized. “I had to make many phone calls, but none of your other extended relatives wanted to take you in. You know, after they heard what happened to your previous guardians.”

“But it wasn’t our fault!” Quigley said.

“Yes, yes, Quinlan…”

“Quigley,” he corrected the banker. For whatever reason, Mr. Poe could never get his name right, which didn’t help with a general sense of unease he had been feeling lately.

“Like I said, Quinton,” Mr. Poe continued. “I had made several phone calls, but people are not easily convinced. This boarding school have agreed to take you in for the next three semesters. While you study here, I will continue to look for a suitable guardian for you twins.”

“We are triplets,” Isadora corrected another one of the banker’s common mistakes.

“Regardless,” Mr. Poe said impatiently. “You are to stay here for three semesters, in the meantime, let's hope I’ll find somebody to take you in.”

“And if you won’t?” Duncan asked.

“Well, I suppose, you’ll have to stay here till you come of age then. It must be nice, I've always wanted to go to a boarding school myself,” Mr. Poe commented.

The triplets didn’t share Mr. Poe’s sentiment. The perspective of staying at Prufrock Preparatory School for the next five years was a grim one.

“You are to report to vice-principle Nero," the banker continued. "His office should be in the main building, just down this path. Good thing you had already changed into your mandatory uniforms; now you won’t waste any extra time."

“Won’t you come with us?” Quigley asked.

“Unfortunately, I can’t,” Mr. Poe replied. “Banking hours had already started; I will be awfully late as is. You do understand, Quentin, don’t you?”

“Quigley,” he corrected the banker once again. “I do.”

“Good to hear! Vice-principle Nero will be sending me reports on how you are performing at school. I will see you after three semesters. So long, Quagmires,” with that, Mr. Poe climbed into his small, green car and drove off.

The Quagmire triplets watched as the car grew smaller and smaller on the horizon, until it got swallowed up by the cloud of dust it raised. Then they looked at each other, still unsettled by all the events that preceded their arrival at Prufrock Preparatory School. Quigley placed his hand on Duncan’s shoulder and his brother responded with an affirmative nod. Isadora grabbed both their hands, squeezing them tightly. The three of them stood at the entrance to their new school, comforted by each others’ presence. If all else failed, at least the three of them were still together.

“Move out of the way cakesniffers,” a girl, dressed in a frilly pink dress, pushed past them making her way to the main building.

“That was quite the greeting,” Duncan said slightly shaken.

“I wonder what does ‘cakesniffer' mean?” Isadora asked.

None of her brothers replied. They grabbed their suitcases and followed the girl on the cobblestone path. Quigley lingered slightly behind his siblings. A weird feeling that he didn’t belong here, resurfaced once again. It was a deep sense of wrongness, that followed him ever since the day their home was destroyed in a fire and their parents had perished. He was not supposed to be there. Even more, he knew who that girl in the pink frilly dress was. Quigley was positive he had never met her before. Yet, somehow, he knew that her name was Carmelita Spats and that she told the most boring campfire stories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *cracks knuckles* Here we go.  
> Folks, it has been a while. My work has started again in September and honestly it has been kicking my butt, like no tomorrow. It's hard to get back into writing, when all you long for at the end of the day is your couch and some mindless trash on YouTube. If you want to know how tired I have been - my Christmas decorations are not even up yet! And I usually get them up by mid-November...  
> This fanfic has been living in my head rent free since about June or so, but I couldn't figure out a good starting point for it. Here it is. Will go far from here, probably...  
> Anyway, y'all know me by now and you know what to expect.  
> I can't wait to share the rest of this story with y'all!  
> Thank you for reading! 💜


	2. Chapter 2

By the time Quigley got home it was already dark. The grocery store, where he worked, was not too far from his apartment, but today the walk felt much longer. Must have been the two full bags of groceries he was carrying. At the end of the week left over produce was sold to employees at a discount price. Quigley never missed a chance to use said discount, even though the Sunday evening shift was his least favourite one. Something about the evenings at the end of the week attracted the oddest people to the store. One person from earlier today was still on his mind.

It was a man in a grey suit. He didn’t stand out among the regular Sunday crowd. He was well-dressed, if a bit old-fashioned - he could’ve stepped out of a black and white TV show. He was wearing an ash-coloured three piece suit with a dust-coloured shirt and a soot-coloured overcoat. A silver streak ran through his hair, which too was styled in an outdated manner. His features were lively, but his face carried a sorrowful expression. The man in the grey suit spent an hour wandering the half-empty store, while avoiding interactions with the sales clerks. He left right before closing. All he bought was a single small cantaloupe.

Quigley adjusted the bags in his hands; his arms were about to fall off when he reached the apartment door. He pressed the doorbell with his elbow and hoped that somebody would get the door - Quigley couldn’t remember if he brought his keys with him today. Not even a minute later Violet opened the door for him.

She must’ve just got home herself; her steel-toed boots were laying in the middle of the foyer and she was still wearing her work uniform. Only Violet Baudelaire could look this beautiful in her oil-stained coveralls!

“Aren’t you a sight for the sore eyes,” Quigley exhaled.

Violet smiled, light blush touching her face. She pressed a quick greeting kiss to his cheek and grabbed one of the bags out of his hands.

“Long day?”

He placed the other bag on the entrance bench, sat down and pulled his shoes off. His feet felt like they were full of lead.

“You know, Sunday evenings…”

“…bring out the oddest people,” she completed his sentence.

Violet kicked her boots out of the way and took the bag she was holding to the kitchen. Quigley followed her with the other bag. No matter how tired he was, groceries needed to be put away.

“How was your day?” he asked.

“Long, busy, boring,” Violet replied. “A lot of oil changes today, but nothing else interesting.”

Together they put away groceries, neither talking any further about their work day. There were not a lot of places in the city which would hire teenagers, even if they did have excellent qualifications and were very well read. Quigley spent his work shifts shelving produce and manning the cash register, both tasks were as far from cartography as one would get. Violet worked at a car shop, but did more car maintenance and simple repairs, than actual inventing. Their siblings didn’t have it much better. Klaus did deliveries for a local book store. Isadora wrote poems for a greeting card company. Duncan did find a job with a newspaper; his job consisted mainly of making coffee and taking notes at the meetings. Sunny and Beatrice were too young to work, so they took over the house chores to support their siblings. And even with all of them working and cutting costs at every corner the seven orphans barely had enough to keep the roof over their head and put food on the table.

With the groceries put away, Quigley moved himself to the living room couch. He put his aching feet up on the footstool and realized that he couldn’t move a muscle. The thought of a hot shower and a change of clothes was an appealing one, but he was too exhausted to act on it. Violet sat down next to him, pulling her feet up and resting her head on his shoulder. Her hair still smelled of the car shop - a mix of scrap metal, old tires and machine oil with faint notes of her camomile shampoo.

“Is anyone else still up?” Quigley wondered.

“I doubt it,” she said, forcing down a yawn. “Sunny and Beatrice were already asleep when I got home. Klaus has to help out with morning deliveries and Duncan always has an early morning.”

“The coffee won’t make itself,” he chuckled.

“I caught Isadora right before she went to bed,” Violet continued. “Apparently we missed an invigorating discussion between our brothers…”

“What about?”

“The advantages of digital storage for the periodicals.”

“Fascinating,” he said. “Isadora is right, they do bicker like an old couple.”

“Mhmm,” Violet yawned again. “It’s like they were made for each other.”

The quiet darkness settled over their tiny apartment. A lamp on the table next to the couch cast out a small light, with the rest of the living room steeped in comforting shadows. Half-asleep Quigley wondered what their lives would look like if their parents were still alive. The thought came to him every now and then, especially during dull work shifts, but he never shared it with anyone. What good was speculating if there was no way they could bring them back. Still…

“Vi,” he started hesitantly. “Can I ask you a question?”

There was no response.

“Violet?” Quigley called a little louder.

Still no answer.

Concerned Quigley turned toward her. She was asleep; her head resting on his shoulder and her arm wrapped around his. He kissed the top of her head and turned off the lamp.

“Good night, Vi,” he whispered.

No matter how boring their current jobs were and no matter how hard it was to keep up with monthly bills at least they had each other. At least Violet was there by his side.

At the time he was certain there was no way to bring their parents back. On the day Quigley met the man in the grey suit again he learned that he was wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are folks - chapter 2 is up! Sorry if it took long - December was surprisingly busy.  
> Anyway please enjoy the miserable existence that is working as a grocery store sales clerk. I had many crappy jobs in the past, but working in the grocery store was by far the worst one.  
> We also have some wonderful domestic fluff, somehow this is my favourite thing to write right now. But we will get to the sad and sad it will be...  
> Hope you all enjoy,  
> Thank you for reading!💜


	3. Chapter 3

_Breath in, breath out. One foot in front of another. Breath in. Breath out. Breath in. Land on your toes. Breath out. Not on your heels. Breath in. Breath out. One foot in front of another. Breath in, breath out._

Was he running his tenth lap? Twentieth? Hundredth? Quigley had lost count. Gym class was both dull and exhausting, unlike the classes that his siblings ended up in. Those were just dull. Duncan had to pay attention to boring stories Mr. Remora told in the Language Arts class. Isadora had to endure endless measuring of random objects provided by Mrs. Bass during Math class. Quigley had to ran laps. Occasionally, when Ms.Tench was at an away game, he had to do jumping jacks or whatever else exercise Carmelita came up with. It all fit into the internal logic of Prufrock Preparatory school with its ridiculous rules, bland food, unwelcoming demeanour and dull classes.

Quigley stretched his track jacket sleeves to cover his wrists and pulled the collar up to his chin. Today was the first truly cold day of the year; on the breath out he could see the air escaping his lungs. The wintery chill was a sign of the coming new season. Soon their first semester at Prufrock would be over. There was not much to look forward to in the new semester, but at least Quigley hoped he wouldn’t have to run anymore.

His thoughts came back to the dream he had the night before. As much as he tried, Quigley couldn’t remember what it was about. It was Isadora, who brought his attention to the dream. She asked him about it, when she woke him up that morning.

“What were you dreaming about?”

Quigley sat up on the bale of hay, that served as his bed, forced down a yawn and pulled straw out of his hair. He glanced over to his left, almost expecting for someone to be there, but all he could see was the rusty wall of the tin shack.

“Pardon?”

“You were smiling in your sleep,” Isadora explained. “I wonder if you were dreaming of something nice. You looked happy…”

“A rare occurrence now, isn’t it?” he said. “I think I was getting groceries.”

“That is an odd thing to be happy about,” Duncan commented, putting down the newspaper he was reading.

“You’ve always hated grocery shopping,” Isadora said.

“No, I hate seeing the press, that is sold next to the cash register. If you can even call it that.”

“Sounds like a valid reason to hate grocery shopping,” Quigley said.

“It is a part of the whole experience,” Duncan went back to reading his newspaper. The article on the front page caught Quigley’s attention.

“There was another fire?” he asked.

“Yes, at the Baudelaire mansion.”

“Baudelaire?” Quigley frowned. Prickles of pain gathered at his temples. “Why does this name sound familiar?”

“Because Charles Baudelaire is a renown French poet?” Isadora suggested. “We had a collection of his works in our library back at home.”

“I don’t think that’s it…”

“We’ll have to figure this mystery out later,” Duncan said, folding up the newspaper. “It’s time for breakfast. We should hurry, if we don’t want to eat our oatmeal with our hands.”

As his laps kept going, Quigley’s thoughts kept coming back to his dream, and the fire, and that odd name. The good thing about physical exercise was that it left one’s mind open for all kinds of thoughts. The bad part was those thoughts causing an ever growing headache. Out of a corner of his eye, Quigley noticed that a blur of bright pink frills was approaching the school field. It was a rare occurrence; Carmelita usually only showed up, if the Ms.Tench was away. Soon he learned the reason for her sudden visit.

“I have a special message for the cakesniffing orphan, who lives in the Orphan Shack,” Carmelita shouted into the megaphone.

The rest of the class stopped and stared, as Quigley ran across the field to meet Carmelita. He didn’t want to give her a chance to broadcast the ‘special message’ to the whole school, so he picked up his pace.

“You are to report to the vice-principal Nero’s office,” she said, watching Quigley catch his breath.

“Why?”

“Dunno,” Carmelita shrugged. “I bet he is mad at you three, though. Maybe you’ll even get expelled!”

A vile grin grew on her face. Quigley sighed and started walking toward the administration building.Somehow getting expelled didn’t sound so bad right about now.

“Ahem,” he heard Carmelita cough.

“I’ve got your message,” he said.

“A special messenger deserves a special tip.”

“A tip?”

“Yes, a tip! Are you deaf and stupid?” she was still following him. “It can be a pice of jewelry for example, like a nice brooch or a pair of earrings, or a….”

“I’ve got nothing on me,” Quigley interrupted. “Look, my pockets are empty.”

He stopped to turn his jacket pockets inside out; there was a small object inside one of them. Quigley pulled it out - it was a ring made out of silver so old it had darkened with age. He frowned - there was nothing in his pockets earlier this morning, he was positive of it.

“A ring!” Carmelita gasped. “That’ll do nicely!”

“I can’t give it to you,” Quigley stepped away from her. “I think it belonged to…”

“I don’t care, give it to me!”

He took off in a quick sprint toward the entrance to the administration building. Carmelita tried to follow him, but lacked the stamina to keep running; she was soon way behind him.

Quigley made his way to the vice-principals office without being followed. Duncan and Isadora were already waiting for him there.

“Why do you think we got called here in the middle of the classes?” Isadora asked.

“Didn’t Carmelita deliver you her special message?” Duncan asked in return.

“She tried, but insisted to do so in a song form and I left after the first line.”

“She told me, we might get expelled,” Quigley said.

“That sounds too good to be true.”

“She told me, that we might be moving to the broom closet.”

“That is more likely to happen,” Isadora said. “Do you think it means there are new orphans who started classes today?”

“I wonder…” Quigley said, knocking on the office door. “Let’s find out, shall we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, the next chapter is here... It's an odd one folks, I like parts of it better than the whole thing, but let me know what you think, maybe be I am just feeling weird.  
> I don't think I enjoyed writing Carmelita very much...no I did not...  
> We also get a glimpse of the plot, a glimpse... I promise we will get to the plot proper one of this days...  
> I'm just feeling weird today y'all, I'll stop for now.  
> As always thank you for reading!💜


	4. Chapter 4

The storm broke out, when Quigley was washing the dishes after dinner. The first flash of lightning split the sky and the crack of thunder that followed was so loud, the whole building trembled. For the first time Quigley was thankful that their apartment was on the ground floor. Heavy rain spilled out of the storm clouds, drumming up a miserable tune on the glass of the kitchen window. The weather matched Quigley’s mood - he hated doing the dishes.

They all had their least favourite house chore. Duncan couldn’t stand grocery shopping, Klaus hated vacuuming, Isadora despised laundry, Sunny didn’t like mopping the floors, Violet was not a fan of cooking and Beatrice would avoid dusting at all costs. The seven of them had put together a schedule, that would prevent them from doing their least favourite chores too often. However, every now and then the stars didn’t align and one of them would get stuck with something they hated. Today was Quigley’s turn. He sighed, rolled up his sleeves, plunged his hands into hot and soapy water and tackled the mountain of the dirty pots, pans and plates. 

The storm was getting stronger; now great gusts of wind were blowing through the street, bending the trees almost to the ground. Quigley glanced at the kitchen clock and frowned. Violet’s work shift had ended a while ago, if she took the bus like usual she should’ve been home by this hour. He took a few deep breaths, not letting his anxiety to take over. With a storm like that, breaking out during her commute home, Violet would have enough sense to wait it out at the bus station. He could go pick her up with an umbrella and an extra raincoat, once the dishes were done. All he had to do was focus on washing them faster. Quigley doubled down on scrubbing out a stubborn spot on the frying pan. If only they had a dishwasher. He could load the dishes in it and head out to meet Violet. If only they had a car. He could just drive and pick her up from work, then she wouldn’t have to take the bus in this weather. If only they had enough money, so the five of them didn’t have to work every waking hour, just to keep the roof over their heads. If only…

They had to hold on for about three more weeks. In three weeks the triplets would turn eighteen. They would come of age and would have a chance to get their inheritance. Three weeks. Twenty one days. Five hundred and four hours. Too many minutes to count. In three more weeks, they could turn their lives for the better.

Quigley placed the last plate on the drying rack, then he heard the creek of the front door opening. Relieved he rushed to the entrance foyer, still holding on to the kitchen towel. Violet made it home safe! She did not look well though - she was completely drenched. Rainwater ran down her hair and clothes, gathering in her boots; her face was drained of colour. Quigley’s heart ached, when he met her gaze. Usually bright, lively and lit up with a creative spark, her eyes were now dull and hollow, filled with nothing but pure exhaustion. He hesitated for a moment unsure of what to do, then placed the kitchen towel on her head, trying in vain to dry off her hair. Violet’s lips almost twitched into a smile at his awkward attempts, but a shiver ran through her body and her smile faded.

“What happened?”

“I was so tired after work, I fell asleep on the bus and missed my stop,” Violet said, her voice barely a whisper. “I was walking home when the storm broke out…”

Her voice trailed off, as another violent shiver shook her body.

_Idiot, she’s freezing…_

Quigley gave up on drying her hair and wrapped her in a tight hug, hoping it would warm her up a little.

“What can I do?” he asked. “What do you need? A hot shower? Some dry clothes? A warm drink?”

Violet responded with nods, too tired to talk. He held onto her as they walked to the bathroom, afraid to let go. Once she was set fro the shower he wiped the puddles in the foyer and put her boots on the heater to dry. With that was done, Quigley gathered some clothes and left them by the bathroom door. Next, she needed a hot drink. He came back to the kitchen and looked through the pantry. Tea was always a good idea, Isadora made it better though. He considered waking her up for a moment, but decided against it. His sister would be furious, if she didn’t get enough sleep. In the corner of the pantry Quigley spotted a jug of apple cider. That would make a nice hot drink.

Focused on preparing the cider he didn’t hear Violet enter the kitchen, her steps muffled by warm wool socks. He felt her arms wrap around him and her head rest on his back, right between his shoulder blades. Violet let out a deep sigh.

“Sounds like you had a rough day,” he noted.

“Yeah…”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“I see,” Quigley said, pouring the cider into the pot. “Do you want me to tell you a story?”

“That would be nice.”

“There once was a girl, with a brilliant mind of a great inventor,” he began as he stirred the drink. “From a young age she was interested in tools, and blueprints, and taking things apart, and putting them together. She wanted to learn how everything in the world worked, how it made sense. She built an automatic rolling pin at an age of five. When she was seven, her younger brother fell ill and they couldn’t play together. She made her own telegraph machine, so they could talk anytime, even if they were not in the same room. By age ten she created a new kind of pencil sharpener and won several awards at inventing contests. Still there was one thing she was afraid of. One thing in the world that didn’t make sense. The thunderstorms. When the storm clouds gathered and lightning split the sky and thunder cracked, she would hide under the desk in her father’s work room. That was where she felt the safest. Her father found her there one day, during a particularly loud thunderstorm. He was surprised to see his usually fearless daughter so scared.”

Quigley paused for a moment to turn off the stovetop. The kitchen was filled with warm smell of cinnamon, cloves and ripe apples. He reached up to the cupboard to garb two mugs and then continued.

“He told her a story of a brilliant inventor, just like his daughter. He too was once afraid of lightning and thunder, so he decided to research them. The inventor conducted an experiment during a thunderstorm, with a kite and a key. He proved that lightning was nothing but the electricity, that naturally occurred in the atmosphere. And then he was not afraid anymore. From that day on the girl had read every book about the inventor , that she could find. The next time the thunderstorm happened she recreated the inventors experiment herself. The lighting and thunder made sense to her now. They were just electricity, just like the one that powered her inventions. And she was not afraid of the thunderstorms anymore.”

“That was a nice story,” Violet said. “Maybe you should reconsider cartography as your career?”

“Well, every map tells a story too,” he responded, pouring apple cider into the mugs. “You just need to know how to read it. Are you ready for your warm drink?”

She lingered for a moment, but then nodded and let go of him. Quigley turned around to pass her the mug and couldn’t help but smile. He was in such a rush to get Violet some clothes, that all the sweater, the pyjamas and were socks he got were all his own. They were a little too big on her, a little too bulky. The sleeves of his sweater extended past her fingertips; she had to roll up the ends of the pyjama pants not to trip on them. Even the socks were too big, but she did look warm and cozy. Colour slowly returned to her face and her eyes shined with their usual spark. She grabbed the mug from him, warming her hand on its sides.

“What did you make?” she asked, taking a sip.

“Apple cider,” Quigley replied. “My mother believed it was a cure for everything. Sore throat, upset stomach, insomnia, bad days…”

“Even bad days?” Violet laughed.

“Especially bad days, like the one you were having.”

“It wasn’t that bad really, just exhausting. And the rain didn’t help…”

“I am just happy you are home now,” Quigley said, placing a kiss on her forehead. She was looking much better, though there was still a worried wrinkle between her eyebrows. “Is something still bothering you?”

“What? No…” she waived her hand dismissively. “Just an odd customer from today, that’s all.”

“What was odd about them?”

“He brought a taxi in for a repair, even though they usually go to their own depot.”

“That doesn’t sound that odd,” Quigley took a sip of his cider.

“Believe me he was though, he looked like an actor from an old movie or something. I mean who drives a taxi in a three piece suit…”

“A three piece suit?” he almost choked on his drink. “What colour was it?”

“Grey, I think…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *whispers* y'all I love this chapter so much!  
> I don't even have much to say, just it's sooo good!  
> Hope you all enjoy!  
> Thank you for reading!💜


	5. Chapter 5

The door to the vice-principal’s office swung open with a loud creak. Nero himself was standing behind it and appeared to be in a particularly nasty mood.

“How dare you make a genius like me wait so long!” he bellowed out. “This is taking away the precious time from my violin practice!”

“We didn’t mean to run late,” Isadora said. “We got here as soon as we’ve got your message.”

“We got here as soon as we got your message,” Nero repeated in his mocking voice.“Well come in, come in, I don’t have all day. And I’m sure the people who came to see you are very busy as well.” The tone of his voice changed to a more pleasant one, if it was even possible. “Isn’t it right Mrs. Squalor?”

Nero gestured toward the two people who were waiting in his office. The triplets knew the person standing by the window too well. It was Mr. Poe; he was inspecting the portrait of the academy founder with great interest. The other person, who was standing near the mirror, turned around to face the triplets. Quigley stopped by the the office door, incapable of taking another step. Something about this person was making him feel uneasy, though nothing in their appearance indicated that he should. It was a tall woman with wavy blond hair, dressed in an expensive looking pinstripe suit. That must’ve been Mrs. Squalor.

“Ms.” she corrected vice-principal Nero. “It’s Ms. Squalor and yes I am very busy, very wealthy and very famous.”

She turned her attention to the triplets.

“Children,” Ms. Squalor smiled widely. “My name is Esme Gigi Genevieve Squalor and I am the City’s sixth most important financial advisor. I’m sure you’ve heard of me.”

Isadora looked at Duncan, with a question in her eyes. He shrugged indicating, that he didn’t know who that woman was. Quigley remained behind his siblings. The prickles of pain, he had been feeling since morning, were growing stronger. More importantly he did know Esme Squalor from somewhere and he was positive it wasn't because of her work in the financial sector.

“Why would a financial advisor want to see us?” Duncan asked.

“Ms. Squalor,” Mr. Poe attempted to answer, but got interrupted by a coughing fit. Everyone waited impatiently for his cough to end. “Ms. Squalor here is interested in becoming your guardian, but she wanted to meet you children first.”

“You see, orphans are very in right now,” Esme explained. “And as the most in person in the City, I just had to get my hands on a set of orphans for myself. And you happen to be the only available orphans for miles. Now, let me take a look at you.”

She moved closer to the triplets, brandishing her wide smile. Quigley stepped back to create a greater distance between himself and Esme. Every cell in his body was telling him to run, run far far away from this woman. He took another step back and hit the closed door. Esme got even closer to him; so close he got enveloped in the cloud of her strong perfume. Quigley held his breath, as she grabbed his face and turned him toward her. Her long dark red nails traced his jawline and moved under his chin, lifting his head up to meet Esme’s gaze. He could see the greedy glint in her eyes and her wide smile twisting into a wicked snarl. Quigley swallowed hard, still trying not to breath, when she finally let go of him.

“You are a good looking bunch, though we’ll have to do something about those ugly uniforms,” she turned to face Mr. Poe. “I think I’ll take them.”

“Wonderful,” the banker said. “I’ll get the paperwork ready and children, you can go pack your things.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Esme said. “I will be buying them all new things anyway, I doubt they have anything that’s in.”

“I guess, it settles things then. Quagmires, Ms. Squalor is now your new official guardian.”

“No!” Quigley cried out. Everybody in the room stared at him. “I mean it would be wonderful to live with Ms.Squalor…”

“Call me Esme,” she interrupted. “And yes it would, my penthouse is very in.”

“But are you sure, that we are the only available orphans?” he continued, ignoring the confused stares from his siblings. “Wouldn’t you want to make sure you’ve picked the most in orphans you could find?”

He was grasping at straws, but there was nothing he wanted more than to avoid going anywhere with Esme Squalor. Even staying at Prufrock Prep didn’t seem as bad right now. His words had an effect though; Esme was carefully considering her options.

“At this point you are the only orphans in the City, Quincey,” Mr. Poe shook his head.

“What about the other fire?” Quigley didn’t even bother correcting the banker. “There weren't any orphans left after that fire?”

“The one at the Baudelaire mansion? There were no survivors.”

_No survivors._

This couldn’t be right, this wasn’t what he remembered. This wasn’t how…

A wave of pain and nausea crashed into him, as Quigley tried to make sense of this information.

“A shame what happened, really,” Mr. Poe went on. “They had three children, you know? One of each: a girl, a boy and a baby. What were their names again? I think the eldest one started with a V… Was it Veronica? Valerie? Victoria?”

“Violet!”

Quigley leaned against the office door, but it was not helping him keep upright. It felt like the whole room flipped upside down; the headache became unbearable, he was feeling this morning's breakfast starting to travel up from his stomach. All of his senses were firing at once. He could smell Esme’s perfume, hear the hum of the school furnace and see the speckles of dust in the air. Then the world around him went black.

When Quigley came back to his senses something felt different. The oppressive smell of Esme’s perfume was gone and so were any other scents common for the vice-principal's office. Mold, dust and cheap stationery - he couldn't sense them anymore. Instead the scents that surrounded him were warm, comforting and nostalgic. Cinnamon. Cloves. Ripe apples. Quigley opened his eyes and saw that he was sitting at a round kitchen table with a cup of apple cider in front of him. He lifted his eyes and blinked quickly, not believing what he saw. Across from him was a person; a person he was positive he would never see again.

“Quigley,” Mother said, putting her own cup down. “Darling are you feeling alright? You are awfully pale.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy folks!  
> Do you ever go feral and finish two chapters in one week?  
> Well, to be fair I was sick this week and didn't go to work, so I had time and energy to write.  
> We are pretty close to wrapping up part one of this story, I think it will take may be one or two more chapters, we'll see where we end up.  
> Esme was riot to write, y'all! I find her to be a very entertaining villain, she is funny and terrifying at the same time. Jerome was supposed to be here as well, but he didn't do much for the story, so Esme is on her own.
> 
> I swear, I know how to end a chapter not in a dialog cliffhanger. I don't know why I did this three times in row now. I'll try to do better for the next chapters, I promise.
> 
> Anyway, hope y'all enjoy this chapter.  
> Thank you for reading!💜


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